


the thanks you get

by aimerai



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Attempt at Humor, Gen, Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-23 13:23:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13191009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aimerai/pseuds/aimerai
Summary: Mikael’s phone buzzes. Mikko has sent a text calling him fourteen different variations of idiot, all layered with exasperated fondness, like usual. It’s like he expects Mikael to automatically guess what it’s about, now.





	the thanks you get

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sleeperservice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleeperservice/gifts).



> Dear sleeperservice, I hope you enjoy this bit of slight shenanigans with a side of fantasy <3 I know I had waaay too much fun writing it.

Mikael is stunningly easy to read for Mikko, always has been, but Mikko still has to take a second to cover his face, to watch the video peeking through his fingers. God, but his youngling is still an idiot, five seasons in this country be damned, and almost as much time being Mikko’s youngling that he’s also thrown to the wind. He knows Mikael, he  _ knows  _ Mikael, and Mikael must have known he was being filmed. There has to have been someone, off to the side, who he’s looking at, who he’s smiling for with entirely too much smugness, and how has he still not learned? They both have ice in their veins and cold in their bones, but Mikael is so much worse at hiding it, and it can’t even be attributed to the reckless stupidity of youth. 

Mikko doesn’t feel the pull of the ice and cold as strongly as he once used to. Still, back before he got used to the constant longing in his bones, he would fill his water bottle with meltwater, and wore a charm made from stone run smooth from years of glaciers, that took the roar of ice in his veins and made it a murmur. Mikko still wears the charm, but he doesn’t need it in the way he once used to, wears it more because it reminds him of home than because he might lose control. Mikael is different. Mikael is from farther north, and never learned to calm the rush of ice in his veins. His control is tenuous even with the charm Mikko got him that mimics his own, and Mikko can feel the cold on him even with it on. The ice is much closer to the surface for Mikael, harder to control, but still, this is a little too blatant even for him. 

Mikko replays the video, this time without covering his face. And, well. It could be worse. It could be so much worse. Mikael’s lucky that this is going to get passed off as hockey player weirdness, that people are so much more focused on how he’s styling his hair that they’re overlooking that he just dumped a handful of ice shavings in his hair. And Mikko knows, too, that sometimes the itch up the spine is undeniable, and the need that comes with it, to touch ice, to touch cold, to remember what’s in your veins and anchor yourself, but this is--there are subtler ways than this. Mikko used to drop things on the ground--his mouthguard, usually--so he could for a split second sink his nails into the ice and remember what he was, even though it should be impossible to forget. 

Mikael never forgets. Mikael turns his nose up at Mikko’s frumpy sweaters, meant to distract from when Mikko fucks up--because he does. He may not be as outwardly other as Mikael, but they are the same level of more. People get caught up on the sweaters, caught up on him being the ‘CapFinn,’ caught up on him being the oldest member of the Wild, there since almost the beginning, and forget about when he does things that aren’t quite right. And the ways Mikko fucks up are usually allowable for hockey players anyway, who everyone argues are just a different breed. No one is ever going to enlighten the general masses to the fact that a lot of them actually are, enough that there’s a phone tree with at least two branches on every team. 

Mikko shakes his head, pulls himself out of introspection, and replays the video. He’s probably approaching the double digits in replays when he calls his agent. The initial flare of worry when he’d seen the video has dimmed down to resigned fondness. He’s not that surprised that Mikael’s done something like this; Mikael hates playing human with a burning passion. Mikko has known that Mikael had ice in his veins from the moment he became aware of Mikael’s existence--like recognises like, and Mikael’s lack of subtlety makes him obvious enough that a handful of Finns around the League call Mikko every so often to laugh in his ear because his youngling has done  _ something _ again. 

The thing is, everyone knew, the moment Mikael was drafted, that he’d be Mikko’s youngling. Mikko was of age to be able to get a youngling, and Mikael was more than good enough for the NHL. So when Mikko finally went for his military service, Mikael joined him, and that’s the first time Mikko learned who he was beyond the hockey player, and the first time he’d realised he was doomed to have a headstrong youngling who never listened. Those first few months had been difficult, because Mikael was Mikko’s responsibility and he carried the ice in his veins so differently. Like he couldn’t bear for it to be quiet.

As if on cue, his phone rings from where he’d hung up with his agent. Leo laughs at him for only about two minutes, which shows a remarkable level of restraint, and asks him what he’s going to do about his youngling.

“What do I ever do about Mikael?” Mikko asks, eyebrows raised even though he knows Leo won’t be able to see his face. 

Leo’s voice is filled with glee. “Nothing. You do nothing, and he continues to be the world’s most spoiled youngling.”

“Well, we can’t all have younglings who’ve had secrecy impressed on them since they were small,” Mikko says, his mouth ticking up. Kasperi is very normal, almost completely human-seeming. He didn’t really need time as someone’s youngling. It’s his Swedish friend who messes up on occasion, but everyone is salivating over their first overall there, so even he flies under the radar. 

Leo snorts. “You wouldn’t want a different youngling even  if you could switch.”

And that’s true enough, too. Mikko wouldn’t trade his youngling in for anyone else, now, and probably wouldn’t have traded him for anyone else back then, either. Not Leo’s well-behaved child of a dynasty, not the one from his own hometown with ironclad control who never even needed to be someone’s youngling.

* * *

Mikael’s phone buzzes. Mikko has sent a text calling him fourteen different variations of idiot, all layered with exasperated fondness, like usual. It’s like he expects Mikael to automatically guess what it’s about, now. It’s only luck that Mikael does know what this one is about, considering that he has messages from various teammates and friends, some with ice in their veins and some without, either chirping him or telling him to be more careful. He spends careful minutes deliberating over the emojis that’ll express his emotions to Mikko in the most succinct manner possible.  _ Tongue out, winky face, kissy face, snowflake. _

Mikko sends him three middle finger emojis and calls him a brat. Mikael can’t believe that some of their teammates think Mikko is bad at technology, but it might also be that he’s the only one who drives Mikko crazy enough to actually try at technology. Mikko tries too hard at being human, down to dressing in those ridiculously frumpy sweaters like he’s a decrepit man in his 80s. He even has one with  _ elbow patches _ . If it were up to Mikael, he’d have burned them ages ago. He did try to vanish them once, but Mikko just came up with more of them out of nowhere, and so Mikael gave up and let Mikko have his weird grandpa sweaters. He’s pretty sure Mikko’s started to like them, instead of supposedly needing them. They’ve gone from ridiculously frumpy to just regular frumpy, anyway, and Mikael doubts that it’s because Mikko has randomly developed taste.

It’s not like anyone watching them is going to think Mikko is the one who’s off. Putting them on a line together did set off alarms, but only in Jason, who had looked at the two of them and asked if he were missing something, only partially as a joke, way back when their line was a new thing. The ice in their veins doesn’t help them in hockey, not in the way people think it does, even if Mikael’s hands are always cold, charm or not. What helps is that deep down inside, they’re parts of the same whole. Ice is always ice, no matter what it looks like. There’s a certain predictability there, so they can read each other better.

Mikko hadn’t wanted to tell Jason at first, but he did, anyway. He knew what Mikael knew--that Jason had the potential to keep up, to learn to read them the way they read each other. It takes a lot of tenacity to play hockey when you’re a desert boy; there may be a touch of ice in his veins that he worked into existence. Still, Jason had laughed at first, so Mikko proved it, too, switching out of his human skin, showing what he looked like in his purest form. He was all internal fault lines and smooth on the outside, none of the sharpness and angles that Mikael has in his other form. Mikko looks like a humanoid sculpted out of ice; there’s no jaggedness to him. Mikael’s pretty sure it’s a hometown thing--only Lapland is farther north than Northern Ostrobothnia, and barely anyone lives in Lapland.

Jason had turned super pale and asked Mikko to turn it off; he hadn’t learned yet, about the frost dancing into his own veins, the way in which he’d been blessed. After Mikko had gone back to unassuming human, Jason had quietly asked Mikael if he also was like that. 

Mikael had smiled at him with teeth bared. “No, I’m scarier.”

Jason, still paler than anything, had laughed uncertainly. “That’s a joke, right?”

Mikko had smiled at him, kindly, and Jason had looked somewhat reassured. “He’s from up north where there’s nothing.”

“I’m pointier,” Mikael told Jason, still smiling. It wasn’t the right word, exactly, but it was true enough, and messing with Jason was entertaining. Jason, who’d had the rug pulled out from under his feet, learning that his two previously normal enough teammates were more than that. Mikael had wanted to tell him right then and there about the frost creeping into his veins, the touch of ice that Jason made from nothing, from sheer stubbornness alone, just to see his surprise, but Mikko wouldn’t like that, and Mikael could see how it might be better, to wait.

“Okay,” Jason had said, eyes moving restlessly between the two of them. “Okay. I won’t--I won’t tell anyone, but I need--process time.”

He’d fled, after that. 

Mikko had eyed Mikael thoughtfully. “I hope you’re proud of yourself,” he’d said, and there’d been something in his eyes that made Mikael flush and look down, unable to meet his eyes. 

Jason had come in the next day, practically vibrating out of his skin, sat down next to Mikael, turned to face him almost immediately, eyes bright, and said, “Show me.”

Mikael did, of course. He’s always been open and ready to share--not just for Jason, but for the whole world, to Mikko’s eternal exasperation. 

* * *

Mikko signs the contract easily, four days after his youngling is caught dumping ice shavings in his hair on camera. He’d called his agent specifically to say that he didn’t care what fussy parts they were negotiating; he was willing to sign the next contract put down in front of him. Two more years, making less money than he had been but still more money than he needed, and absolutely no chance that he’ll be traded. His new contract will expire at the same time as Mikael’s, the two of them forming the core of the oldest Wild players, even if they’re not the oldest hockey players. Only Jared and Jason have been here as long as Mikael, and no one has been here even close to as long as Mikko.

Another two years of Mikko and Jason on his wing, carrying on their unsubtle flirtation. Mikko could help out, but if they need help getting to the point of a relationship, that doesn’t bode well for their future relationship. And if he’s finding more than a little bit of amusement in watching Mikael struggle with some of the finer points of human interaction, well, he thinks he’s earned the right to laugh. 

**Author's Note:**

> For those of you that haven't seen it, [this](https://www.instagram.com/p/BZC1-M3ld72) is the video in question.


End file.
